


♥ When Beleaguered Bureaucrat Meets Disposable Diplomat ♥

by IcyKali



Series: Dayoun Timeline [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Fix-It of Sorts, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Other, Rare Pairings, Resolved Sexual Tension, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27557383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyKali/pseuds/IcyKali
Summary: Damar dreads working closely with Weyoun at first despite feeling drawn to him, but after he finds that Weyoun shares many of his frustrations, the two of them end up finding comfort in each other over time.
Relationships: Damar/Weyoun (Star Trek)
Series: Dayoun Timeline [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116638
Comments: 13
Kudos: 54





	♥ When Beleaguered Bureaucrat Meets Disposable Diplomat ♥

**Author's Note:**

> Jeffrey Combs and Casey Biggs convinced at least a handful of people to give this ship, Dayoun, a try, including me! I did make a host of subtle changes to canon (Damar should be the disgruntled nerdy bookkeeper to Dukat’s jock, I say) but I tried to remain true to their excellent performances and interpretations.
> 
> I couldn't think of any archive warnings to include on this fic, but keep in mind that there are a few disturbing subjects brought up throughout simply by nature of the Dominion and who these characters are. However, there shouldn't be anything darker than what's in DS9 itself.

As if traveling to the vast area of the warship dedicated to the Dominion and seeing the lights brightening as he went was not bad enough, Dukat had insisted on accompanying him throughout the entire journey. He and Damar walked side-by-side, but Dukat held the new bottle of kanar—Damar’s future prize—in the hand farther away from him. For the time being, Damar only had the empty glass. 

“I appreciate your spending time on this, Sir,” Damar lied. “That being said, I could have found my way to the office myself.” 

“I don’t doubt you could have, Damar, but it would be very remiss of me not to address my second’s concerns, don’t you agree?” Dukat asked. 

Damar’s shoulders tensed. Did Dukat know he was dreading growing to hate yet another one of his colleagues? “Concerns, Sir?” He had not expected Dukat to be this perceptive, and had no readymade excuse. “I suppose it’s always… rather unnerving to work closely with an alien who may be psychic.” 

“Is that what this is about? To think I believed you were worried Weyoun was going to be overbearing, when he’s actually quite enjoyable company indeed!” Dukat said. “A few of the Vorta do have telekinetic powers, but Weyoun is not one of them. I would know.” 

Because he would have pushed Dukat away from across the room, Damar assumed. Finally, they reached the doors to the office where Damar would be spending his time for the foreseeable future. Using the panel beside the entrance, Dukat adjusted Damar’s access level, which he could have done before the trip. He did not even give Damar the satisfaction of making the doors open himself. They slid apart to reveal Weyoun, still as a stone, with his hands behind his back. Those big ears of his, which looked like a fusion of ears and pit organs, had probably alerted him to their presence a while ago. It did strike Damar as odd to see Weyoun alone in such a setting—in the past, Damar had only ever seen him following the Founder around like her personal Betazoid interrogator, or shepherding squadrons of Jem’Hadar. Those artificial, lavender eyes did not seem suited for staring at data sets. 

Dukat urged Damar inside, and Damar was reluctant to comply without yet feeling the heft of the kanar bottle in his hand. “What a momentous occasion it is for my second and the Founder’s favorite Vorta to finally merge our systems,” said Dukat, but Damar knew he could not bear working with databases himself. “As this is heralding in a new era of prosperity for my people, I simply had to formally introduce the two of you.” 

Weyoun had a bland smile on his face—the “I know better than to snap at you because I don’t want to be sexually harassed” look Damar knew well. Weyoun wore it the best. “How kind of you, Dukat. However, it is a wholly unnecessary gesture. The Founder already introduced us when—”

“She was utterly impersonal about it.” Dukat continued to hold the bottle out of Damar’s grasp. “It isn’t sufficient, not when I’m handing Damar over to you for the foreseeable future, isn’t that right?” He glanced at Damar.  
  
“That is a good point, Sir,” Damar said, struggling to keep sarcasm out of his tone. He stared hard into Weyoun’s eyes. Weyoun’s expression softened in sympathy, and Damar was glad that he was getting across just how far his will to live was plummeting.

With a tilt of his head, Weyoun gracefully approached until Dukat was blocked from both sides of the doorway. “It is touching to know you’re as excited for Damar and I to deepen our bond of friendship as I am, Dukat,” Weyoun said. “How insightful of you to understand that working together, one-on-one, on such an important project will bring us closer together. Thank you for giving us the opportunity.”

“And thank you again for this nice reward.” Damar smirked and snatched the bottle during the brief window of time Dukat was off-balance. 

Though he glared at them both, Dukat stepped back into the hall. “You are welcome,” he sneered. “A data-driven project requiring this much deliberation suits you both perfectly. While you have your fun, the Founder and I will be discussing the Federation.” He turned and left.

The temperature in the office already felt several degrees warmer, even before Damar tasted the thick, black kanar he poured into the square glass. Ignoring, out of a sense of goodwill, the way Weyoun’s face screwed up at the sight of the beverage, Damar followed Weyoun in taking a seat before a wide console with a wraparound screen embedded in the wall behind it. 

Weyoun paused, his fingers brushing the touchscreen to activate it. “Before we begin, I must admit there’s been a question on my mind. Tell me, Damar,” he said, in a breathy tone fitting for his unctuous demeanor, “what occurs when you neglect to unfailingly refer to Dukat as ‘Sir?’” 

“He gets suspicious and paranoid. Keeps asking if I’m angry at him or something.” Damar took a sip of kanar. “I have a question for you, too, Weyoun.” 

“Hm?” 

“Why are you doing a job like this?” He swiveled in his chair to face him. “I thought you were a diplomat, or a field supervisor. Why are you working with me to build a better sort of spreadsheet?” 

Weyoun chortled. “Paperwork is a large part of my role as a diplomat, Damar. I have many responsibilities beyond serving as the proud face of the Dominion. Not to mention, I have the correct clearance for this task. Although it wouldn’t be completely transparent of me to claim I’m motivated only by doing my job.” He gave the screen a strangely wistful look. “The Dominion thrives by bringing order to the universe, and when I contribute to our goal in my own small way that can be visualized, it is _riveting_.”

“I didn’t know anyone could find well-organized spreadsheets as beautiful as I do!” Spreadsheets and kanar, the two main sources of joy in Damar’s life. 

“We Vorta are incapable of comprehending beauty and ugliness, but I do find them pleasing on a conceptual level.” His grin showed his teeth, as if his wide eyes did not put Damar on edge enough already. 

Avoiding that unnerving look, Damar used the Dominion’s portal to enter the Dominion’s database while Weyoun did the same for the Cardassian systems. Weyoun brought up the Cardassian spreadsheets and ran one finger along one of the paths and touched a data point, resulting in the text of its label slowly rotating around his fingertip. “Why is the data laid out this way?” he asked. “This is… exceedingly difficult to follow.” 

The inevitable lurch toward hating his coworker had begun, more slowly than expected, but Damar could see the signs. He took a swig of kanar before replying, “What do you mean? The branching paths show you how the data are related, and you’re touching one of the tabulated values.”

“I can see that, Damar, but one shouldn’t have to scroll in every direction to view the ranges.” He kept his finger pressed to the screen. “What about this circular, scrolling label? Surely this can’t be easy on Cardassian eyes, either.” 

Damar bit back on the inappropriate urge to accuse Weyoun of simply not being patient enough. “Aren’t you fluent in Cardassian? We always use circular script for emphasis. You must have noticed that.” 

“I… always believed it to be an aesthetic choice. It wastes valuable space to include it on a spreadsheet, don’t you think?” 

On Damar’s side of the console, he had several Dominion spreadsheets on the display, and he gestured to them. “You think Cardassian spreadsheets are poorly optimized? I don’t see how your fellow loyal subjects of the Dominion can find anything in this. Better to have to scroll in multiple directions than to only scroll one way, but have the labels cut-off and lose all sense of what’s connected and what isn’t!” 

“The Founders never struggled with this system. You have no idea how fortunate you are that they were mercifully open to our revising the structure during this merging,” there was a hardness in his tone and eyes.

Damar did nothing but glare back before pouring more kanar. He wanted to cringe at himself. He had sunk low enough to be arguing with this eerie, waiflike alien, and it was not even a good argument, just a distracting one. What he would give to be back in his dimly-lit office on what used to be Terok Nor, where no one bothered to interrupt him and the most he had to deal with was overhearing the guls laughing about how was always hiding like he was in shed every single day. He never had to worry about—

“I do see merit in your people’s branching organizational structure.” Weyoun was looking at the spreadsheet again. “However, it would be more efficient to have said branches take up a smaller portion of the screen.” 

“Uh, I agree.” Damar took less of a sip than he had intended. “I suppose it wouldn’t be the worst thing to leave the labels in a bolded, typical script instead and to limit the scrolling to one axis—but then we’d better code a simple way to find specific data points by typing in search terms.” 

Weyoun input a password. “That would be quite useful. Would you be able to add the Cardassian alphabet and its punctuation to this segment of code?” 

“Of course.” 

As Damar added additional code and wrote the hierarchy of the letters into it, Weyoun continually glanced at him. “I am relieved you suggested this feature be implemented, Damar. To be perfectly honest with you, I’ve often found it difficult to hunt for the labels in our spreadsheets… or even to see them at all. To make progress at an acceptable pace, I sometimes rely on an ill-fitting visor that functions with my eye movements.”

Come to think of it, he had seen Vorta and Jem’Hadar wearing visors with lights affixed to them before. “Are you saying you have a disability?” Damar asked. 

“Certainly not!” Weyoun seemed surprised by the idea. “I have the capabilities of any Vorta… other than the few who still retain telekinetic powers. We simply have poor eyesight as a species, unlike the sharp-eyed Jem’Hadar.” Before Damar could ask why the Founders would engineer a species with bad eyes and then make them stare at screens, Weyoun continued, “And speaking of capabilities, it's rare for a male Cardassian to be trained in science and technology, isn’t it?”

“It is. But do you think any Cardassian woman was going to choose to work with Dukat?” 

Weyoun’s smile met his eyes. “I would imagine not.” 

* * *

Days passed as they continued work on the project, and it struck Damar that this was the first time collaborating with anyone had increased his productivity. It was also the first time in decades that he was willing to take meals with a coworker, as opposed to being dragged into a mess hall after clawing vainly at his workstation. As the two of them spent more time together, Weyoun inundated him with questions about Cardassian culture—many of which did not seem particularly relevant to his diplomatic position. 

“Is it true that rokassa calms the nerves?” Weyoun asked one day.  
  
“Some people swear by it, but it’s never done anything for me. Nothing ever comes close to usurping kanar,” Damar said, as he input the code for zabu stew into the replicator. “Mammalian species tend to find rokassa disgusting. Try at your own risk.” He could not help being curious. Often he saw Weyoun eating a chalky, nutrient-rich substance—which Damar hesitated to refer to as food—that had been prepared by the Founders for the Vorta’s consumption. Once Weyoun had tried zabu stew himself, but had only commented that it was “thick” and had been otherwise uninterested. Damar figured that rokassa might trigger more of a reaction. 

“Then I will.” Weyoun punched a code into the replicator, and Damar was utterly unprepared for what came next. Three oversized, raw rokassa fruits materialized on Weyoun’s plate. He then had the nerve to sit down directly across from Damar, pick up a knife and fork, and skewer the fruit’s rounded bodies, letting the gelatinous red insides spill over and paint the plate. Weyoun cut into the rokassa and took large bites, making horrific _squelching_ sounds as he ate. “Very... wet,” he remarked. Rivulets of juice dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin as he spoke. 

“What are you doing?!” Damar recoiled. “Rokassa’s supposed to be dried, or juiced, or—and why are you using a knife and fork?! I-I’ve never witnessed such an atrocity!” 

Weyoun paused in making loud chewing noises. The confusion in his eyes suggested he was not trying to make Damar vomit on purpose as roundabout flirtation. “Were you not Dukat’s adjutant during the Occupation of Bajor?” Weyoun asked. “Many people would describe the event as an atrocity, or at the very least, as a disappointment.”  
  
After downing more sweet kanar to rearrange his thoughts and drown out the overpowering rokassa smell in the recirculated air, Damar heaved a sigh. “I mainly put together spreadsheets back then, like we’re doing now. I didn’t supervise any workers and I’ve never excelled at combat. Any Bajoran freedom fighter could have snapped my spine in an instant.”

Weyoun put his chin in his hands, smearing more juice on himself. “Somehow I doubt this would spare you from the Bajorans’ scorn.” 

“You’re right, it wouldn’t. I guess they’d be right to hate me. But I had my duty and they had theirs,” Damar said, thinking back to Terok Nor. At least the Dominion warship was far less noisy on a good day than that station had been. He did not miss the clanking of fences, the shouting of the laborers, and the roughhousing of guls interrupting his work. “If Dukat bothered to do more than half-listen to me, countless Bajorans would have been spared execution. Every time violence broke out on the station, which always seemed to come as a surprise to Dukat, he’d send a random selection of Bajorans off to the firing squad and match whatever number of our countrymen died. Dukat actually thought doing that would de-escalate the situation!” Damar stabbed at the meat in his stew. “He never would’ve bothered to think about who the most optimal targets were if I hadn’t pushed him to hire Odo.” 

As soon as Damar mentioned the name, Weyoun’s expression shifted, his eyes gleaming like he was gazing at a distant paradise only he could see. “The Founder, Odo.” Weyoun tentatively reached out, but Damar drew back before he could get any rokassa juice on his uniform. “You should be overjoyed now, Damar,” Weyoun said. “No longer must you answer to a nebulous Cardassian state consisting of flawed individuals including Dukat. The Founders understand your efficient methods to be admirable, as do I. Now that Cardassia has been embraced by the Dominion, you answer directly to gods.” 

Damar looked away from Weyoun’s glassy eyes and downed his kanar. “Okay.”

Weyoun gave him a disapproving look, then blinked once, and clouds of irritation had been swept away. “The many changes taking place might take time to accept, Damar, but I can assure you they will all be for the better.” 

Though the meat and sauce was colored by the rokassa smell, Damar kept eating. Between bites, he said, “Pretty impressive how you can reverse your entire mood in an instant.”

Weyoun wore an impenetrable smile. “A Cardassian would find that impressive, wouldn’t they?”  
  
“I don’t know, but I find it impressive.” Damar refilled his kanar glass. “Clean yourself up or we won’t be able to get back to work.” 

* * *

The next meeting in the Dominion boardroom with the garish orange walls was excruciating. As the Founder, Dukat, and Thot Gor argued back and forth over who stood to benefit from the new merger, it spoke to Dukat's odiousness that his voice was more grating than Thot Gor's as he babbled endlessly about expecting the Dominion to remember that it was _his_ second who merged the databases under his orders. He ignored Weyoun’s contribution, and neither Weyoun nor Damar got a word in edgewise despite the project’s standing entirely on the back of their labor.

Damar found himself spending the meeting gauging Weyoun’s muted reactions. Weyoun kept his face aggressively pleasant and neutral, his eyes tracking the Founder as she moved throughout the room. Looking at Weyoun was like contemplating a paradox—Damar could sense warmth using his pit organs, and yet Weyoun’s skin always had a frigid undertone, broken only by that magenta flush across his hairline. Did that mean Weyoun’s blood was the same jewel-like color as his eyes? Then there was the vast, poofy bun he always kept his hair in—already striking because among Cardassians, only women ever put their hair up—there was no clasp or pin peeking out of it, and no twist in the hair. Even more unique, Damar could now tell that the many ridges inside Weyoun’s serrated-looking ears formed a pattern of broken, concentric circles. 

Weyoun glanced over at him and Damar took a sip of kanar to mask the pulse of self-consciousness. By the time he put the glass back on the conference table, Weyoun had leaned in close. “If the meeting continues in this manner, I will be sorely tempted to activate my suicide implant,” he whispered into Damar’s ear. 

It began as a low chuckle before blooming into a full-blown belly laugh. He threw his head back and let it happen. He did not even care that everyone was staring at him.

“I haven't heard you laugh that way in years!” Dukat exclaimed.  
  
Damar cleared his throat and rubbed his tired eyes. “Weyoun told a surprisingly funny joke, I apologize for the disruption,” he said, when he trusted himself not to laugh at Dukat’s face. 

Thot Gor’s visor flickered in Weyoun’s direction and they made distorted, questioning noises Damar understood to mean, “Is it broken?” but what they were referring to was unclear. 

“Not at all, and I do hope you’ll come to have more faith in our genetic engineers than that, Thot.” The Founder smiled and turned to Weyoun. “Your ability to ease these transitions by providing entertainment is a longstanding reason you are my most trusted advisor, Weyoun.”

Weyoun smirked. "I live only to serve you."

Damar sank back into his seat, impressed. Weyoun played the part of underling even better than he did, to the point Damar could even believe that he genuinely considered himself expendable. It was only Weyoun’s wit, sharp as a jevonite knife, that pierced the illusion. 

Gor’s digitized voice crackled. “I wish I were equally entertained,” they said. 

The Founder nodded shallowly. “I would gladly assign other Vorta to you and your squadron in order to ensure that you will be.” 

Their talk of Vorta as commodities did not appear to phase Weyoun, and when Damar scrutinized his expression, he was smiling proudly with no hint of dismay. To think, Damar had always believed he was in expert in doing what was required to survive, and yet Weyoun far surpassed him in this regard. How many decades had Weyoun been at it? As a line of clones, his lifespan had no ordinary limits. As Damar contemplated this, Weyoun’s gaze drifted over to him, and even though Damar knew Weyoun was not psychic, it was as if a bridge of sympathy was being drawn in the air between them.

“Enough about entertainment!” Dukat snapped, obviously sick of not being the center of everyone’s attention. 

As the argument started back up, Damar sighed and poured himself more kanar. With one hand he rubbed his thigh under the table in exasperation while he poured the drink down his throat with his other hand. He felt Weyoun’s unrelenting stare on him and found himself hoping his earlier interest was reciprocated, but Damar had been considered astoundingly generic all his life—it was more likely Weyoun was just fixing him with a disgusted look for drinking on the job again. Damar did not look to confirm this guess. 

* * *

The stars endlessly passing by outside shone more beautifully once the merging was finalized. Weyoun uncrossed his legs and his and Damar’s gazes intersected. “How nice it is to rest our eyes,” Weyoun said, though Damar felt his eyes were on him as intense as a heat shimmer in a desert. He chose not to ask Weyoun what he expected from him. Skirting the tension in the stuffy office, Damar reached for the kanar bottle, ready and waiting to celebrate having converted the final batch of files. 

“I would like to try sharing in your vice tonight, if you wouldn’t mind, Damar.” Weyoun rose from his chair. 

Damar blinked. “Don’t you always refuse to partake? Dukat tells me you're a teetotaler.”

Weyoun’s peals of laughter sounded haughty, the mark of nobility. “That is… Dukat’s experience. There is more to the culture of imbibing than the drink itself, isn’t there? I do prefer your company, my friend.” 

Damar had a second glass replicated and poured Weyoun some kanar to try. It was black and sparkly as the space that surrounded them. 

Weyoun took it and regarded the drink with a quizzical look. “You Cardassians do enjoy your thick delicacies,” he said. He tipped the glass and let a dab of kanar fall upon his tongue. 

It was too decadent a display for Damar to watch, and he averted his eyes. “What do you think, Weyoun?” 

“I detect a cloying sweetness and the simmer of a substance slightly toxic.” 

“Then it’s not to your taste.”  
  
“Don’t misunderstand me, there is nothing wrong with the sensation,” Weyoun explained, staring into the cup, big eyes filled with disappointment, “yet I find myself longing for a less fleeting warmth. A warmth that might match the elation we felt during our little breakthroughs on this project. My days will feel far more dull now that our collaboration is through.” 

“I know what you mean. I’m dreading returning to my melancholy, too.” Damar smiled despite himself, overtaken by a sense of fellowship. The urge to confess to something welled up inside him. “Often, when I finish my reports before they’re due, I play a few games of digital kotra. Maybe I could teach you how to play.” 

“What a lovely idea!” Weyoun exclaimed. Somehow, Damar could tongue flick and smell Weyoun’s breath on the air—they had been drawn close together, nearly chest-to-chest in the heart of the office, despite there being ample space for them to conduct a conversation. When had this happened? “I like games! And the bold maneuvers of kotra would be a welcome distraction from my routine of careful deliberation!” 

That scintillating emotion like a heat shimmer came fluttering back even more powerfully than before as Damar beheld the excitement dancing in Weyoun’s expression. His lavender eyes looked milky as a regnar’s about to enter shed. As Damar imagined the possibilities of Weyoun's intellect clashing with his over the game, and visualized the outpouring of emotions they would face as challengers, the familiar burn of the kanar was amplified. “Oh, I’m looking forward to it—”

The office doors slid open and Dukat marched into the room. All the flutters in the air dispelled as quickly as they had arrived. “I trust that the two of you have been making good time?” Dukat leaned over the console and dug into the database without asking permission. 

Weyoun scoffed at him. “We finalized the merge ahead of schedule… as anyone who pays attention to the Founder's daily briefings would have anticipated.” 

“She does have a tendency to drag on sometimes, doesn’t she.” If only Dukat could see Weyoun’s expression, Damar mused, he would be ecstatic that Weyoun did not have a disruptor at hand. 

Before Weyoun could sic any Jem’Hadar on Dukat, Damar asked, “What did you want to discuss, Sir?” He resisted the urge to rub his temples, knowing it was not good for his scales. It was more productive to keep daydreaming about kotra.

“Is it so strange, Damar, that I might visit simply to congratulate you?” Dukat straightened and turned to face him. 

“I don’t know, Sir.” 

“Don't be that way, Damar. Has it been too long for you? Not to worry, we'll be stopping to resupply soon and I know that I fully intend to enjoy the local company. I'm sure I can leave a few behind for you.”

Damar glowered. In fact, the last time they had stopped to resupply, Damar had been holed up on the warship because Dukat had “forgotten” to file an important report—either he had forgotten out of ignorance, or he had let it go on purpose because he had been sullen over the fact that Damar tended to attract more attention than he did. “That won’t be necessary. Sir.” Damar rarely had any interest in the people Dukat took to bed. They tended to be interested in the adventure an aggressive military type could offer them, as Damar’s ex-wife had been. Dukat even honed in on alien males, because for Cardassian military officials, it was not considered degeneracy to sleep with someone of the same sex as long as the Cardassian took the dominant role—and everyone thought Dukat’s satyromania only contributed to his masculinity. Finally, there were the unwilling people Dukat victimized. Damar chose not to spoil his accomplished mood by thinking about that. 

Dukat grinned. “I can tell from your face that it has been far too long.”

Weyoun cut in front of Damar, making himself a barrier between him and Dukat. “This isn’t an appropriate topic for polite conversation.” When Dukat looked down at the glass Weyoun was holding in confusion, Weyoun made a show of downing the rest of the kanar before Dukat could get a word in. Weyoun continued, “There is other business for you to attend to, Dukat, now that you’ve made your celebratory remarks. Perhaps you could call your friend Captain Sisko again! I wonder if he'll grace you with an answer this time?” 

Damar finished off his kanar to hide his smile. 

Faced with the onslaught of Weyoun’s unrelenting decorum and politesse, Dukat huffed and looked away. “You truly are anhedonic, Weyoun.” 

The impulse to snidely point out that this was the same Weyoun who had gleefully exclaimed “I like games!” earlier arose in Damar’s mind, but he quashed it. He preferred to keep the memory of his happiness private. Strangely, he felt the wisps of that fluttering feeling return. Damar cleared his throat. “Maybe whether or not he’s anhedonic depends on who’s in the room with him, Sir.”

“I see the alcohol's loosened _your_ tongue.” Dukat pointed to him. “If only the kanar had put the two of you in a better mood. As it stands, I suppose I’ll leave you to your misery.” As he left, Damar realized, but chose not to disclose, how little kanar he had actually drunk that day. 

Weyoun brushed past, and even though the fabric Weyoun’s suit had merely grazed the scales on Damar’s arm, Damar felt heat tingle all the way up to his pit organs. He stood transfixed as Weyoun sat down on top of the console and folded his hands in his lap. Weyoun cocked his head. “I find species’ mating rituals fascinating, particularly Cardassian ones. However, Dukat certainly tries his best to put a damper on my interest,” he said.

“What about them interests you?” Damar had never found courtship compelling. One of the ripple effects of his marriage in service of the state. “And what happened to, ‘This isn’t an appropriate topic for polite conversation?’”

“Obviously, what fascinates me is the intimacy of anger!” Weyoun intertwined his fingers. “A delightful precept, don’t you agree? Being comfortable enough to argue around someone would be a wonderful avenue to de-stress.” He paused. “And what happened was Dukat’s leaving the room.”

“You slippery little hypocrite, you!” Damar blurted out, unable to suppress his laughter. 

Weyoun gasped in faux-realization. “Are you offering to help me study Cardassian mating rituals?” He slid off the console and stood up.

As Weyoun regarded him with an unbridled look of sweet camaraderie tinged with voyeuristic arousal, Damar’s insides seized up with another wave of flutters. This uncanny, male alien was propositioning him! But reflecting on how much happier Weyoun’s company made him—when had he ever been this happy before? His unblemished Cardassian memory was drawing a blank—gently unwound the stress. It gave way to an eagerness to hear him cry out in ecstasy and to questions about the subtle geometry, feel, and colors of Weyoun’s body. Damar shakily put down his empty glass, already feeling more naked and vulnerable for having done so. “You... said you're well-versed in, uh, our... in Cardassian... rituals?” He refused to say ‘mating’ rituals.

Weyoun's face twisted up. “Cardassian hearing may be poorer than mine, but I imagine requiring statements to be made twice is a failing limited to you, Damar.” He raised his chin, putting his pale neck on display and cutting a particularly regal figure in the office's blue light.

Damar darted his tongue out and wet his lips. Pushing through his nerves, he muttered, “It would be nice to rip that hideous amalgamation of patterns off your body and see what's underneath, Weyoun.”

Weyoun glanced down at his suit, endearingly mystified. Damar chuckled and his eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he eagerly awaited meeting him in the middle, but Weyoun showed no hesitation. He must have soundlessly darted over, because Damar’s eyes were soon flying open wide again first at the feeling of encroaching warmth, and then at the sensation of Weyoun’s lips pressing firmly and insistently against his. Damar responded by digging his fingers into Weyoun’s fluffy bun and squeezing it gently. He opened his mouth and let their tongues roll against each other, savoring the heat emanating from Weyoun’s mouth. Damar could taste kanar and something slightly sour, like fermenting berries. After enough exploration, he also tasted an undertone of what could only be Weyoun himself. Paired with the smell of the salt of his skin, it made Damar melt. Weyoun’s tongue drifted from his and continually swiped over the landscape of Damar’s teeth, as if Weyoun was memorizing every point and valley. As Damar became distracted by the rigid edges of Weyoun’s jaw pressing against his, Weyoun caught Damar off guard when he reached down and grabbed his buttocks, hard. 

Damar moaned into Weyoun’s mouth as Weyoun kneaded him—he really had done research, because he was not shy about applying intense force. Damar longed to give himself over to the sensations, but nevertheless, he pulled his head back, breaking the kiss, while he caressed Weyoun’s hair. “You bastard, that was so hot,” his voice came out like a sigh. “Are we taking this to your quarters, or mine?”  
  
Weyoun grinned. He pressed his leg against Damar, and Damar moaned again as the body heat seeped through his clothing and pooled in his groin. “I was hoping you would ask,” Weyoun said. “I’ll be your guest!”

* * *

Damar blinked awake when he noticed the absence of Weyoun’s warm body against his. After turning over, Damar saw Weyoun, dressed in only his undershirt—which looked amber in the low light—as he perched on the edge of the bed. However, Weyoun was making no moves to leave the room. Instead, he was staring intently at the dresser drawers. Apparently, he heard Damar stir, because he looked over with a soft smile. “I was about to wake you. Tell me, did you know you snore terribly? It was ringing in my ears.” he asked. “Sleep on your side and not on your back.” 

Damar snorted. “Duly noted, Weyoun. I’ll make sure to work on my snoring when you learn to make less noise when you eat.” He motioned to the drawers with his chin. “What were you staring at?”  
  
Weyoun pushed himself off the bed. “I’ve always made it a habit to collect items—little treasures—from the cultures I interact with as part of my job, but this was a far more... personal visit, wasn’t it?” The cadence to his voice made it sound as if he was realizing that fact for himself. “In any case, I was wondering if I could look through your dresser.” 

“Haven’t you had your fill of rifling through my _drawers_ for one night?”

“In one respect, yes.” Weyoun pouted. “And? May I, Damar?” 

“I don’t see why not,” he said, drowsily recalling everything he had ever placed inside. He did not have many personal belongings. He sank back into the bed, then scooted over to the impression Weyoun’s body heat had left there. Damar was swept up in the afterglow and was nearly lost in a fantasy—behind his eyelids, he saw flashes of an imaginary history involving Weyoun cheering for him in an audience at a bar on Cardassia Prime, the two of them ending up in each other's orbit and forming a close friendship in a universe without the prospect of war looming over everything. This was utter nonsense, Damar knew. Weyoun was a Vorta field supervisor, the right hand of the Founder leader—his very being was tied to the Dominion and its many plots. But in Damar's quarters, where they had basked in each other's heat and Damar could see the lavender marks on Weyoun's body from where they had touched passionately, it was easy to dream. 

Half-asleep, he breathed slowly, chest rising and falling, as he observed Weyoun delicately looking through Damar’s old badges, and touching each item of his casual clothing. He seemed interested in comparing the differing textures. Weyoun then found an old picture of Damar’s son and ex-wife that had been cradled in a soft undershirt. Weyoun had an unspoken question in his eyes and he gazed into the scene. 

“My son is old enough to attend the boarding school now,” Damar said. “And my wife divorced me so she could begin conducting off-planet research.”

Weyoun hummed a single sad note. “That sounds rather unlike the normative, large Cardassian family unit living together harmoniously under one roof. I'm sorry.” 

“Families don't live up to that norm. They haven't for years, not since the famines.” He expected Weyoun to chime in with reassuring words about how Cardassia’s days of need would soon be over thanks to the Dominion, but instead, Weyoun stayed silent and wrapped the photo back up, before continuing his journey through the rest of the dresser.

Eventually, Weyoun pulled on a cord and lifted the miniature bullroarer it was attached to out of a drawer. Weyoun ran his hand over the surface of the airfoil. He gingerly unwound the cord and let it fall and sway. Its shadow played over the floor as it moved back and forth. “Is this a piece of jewelry?” Weyoun asked.

“I could see why you’d think that, but no,” Damar replied. “It’s a little musical instrument. If you swing it in a circle fast enough you can produce different tones with it.” 

“Does this mean you’re a musician? I didn’t notice such a detail when I was studying your psychographic profile.” Weyoun held the line and swung it slowly, curiously. Out of nowhere, Damar felt a pang of worry, wondering if Weyoun might be getting cold, before remembering he was mammalian and found the temperature in Damar’s quarters pleasantly warm. 

Damar found himself tracking the motion with his eyes. “I used to sing in karaoke bars on Cardassia Prime when I was younger… that’s how I attracted the majority of my past lovers.” After realizing he had used the word “lover,” he hastily turned into his pillow to hide his face, making sure Weyoun could not see that he was turning blue. “I, um, got that little bullroarer as a souvenir after one of my performances.” 

Weyoun did not mention the slip-up. “I wish I could appreciate your singing abilities.” Was that barely-disguised sorrow in his voice? If it was, Damar did not know what to do with that. 

“They’re okay,” Damar murmured into his pillow. He stayed nestled there until he heard the telltale hum of the bullroarer fill the room, and he could not resist peeking at the sight Weyoun made holding fast to the cord and swinging it above his head. His haunting eyes smoldered with joy, pure joy, in the comfortably low light. Damar pushed himself up and ran his hands through his hair, ashamed that it fell over his face in thick, dark strands, even as he reveled in noticing that hairs had come loose from Weyoun’s usually impeccably-groomed bun. 

Weyoun used the instrument to paint Damar’s quarters with one tone after another before he held his hand out and suddenly caught the airfoil mid-flight. He laughed quietly as he beheld the bullroarer. “Delightful,” he whispered, mesmerized. He crept back into bed, and if he noticed the blue that was surely dusting Damar’s cheeks and spoon, he did not comment on it. However, he did gather a few strands of Damar’s hair between his fingers and stroked it. “I’ve never before seen a Cardassian without the majority of their hair slicked-back.”

“It’s good that you haven’t. This would be considered disgustingly unkempt.” Damar had a feeling he was becoming even bluer. 

“Such a shame. The style is a pleasant one to play with.” Weyoun beamed, like Damar himself might be a treasure in his eyes. “May I add this bullroarer to my collection, Damar?”

“Go ahead.” Damar smiled up at him. “Are you going to pick something from my quarters to take home with you every time we have sex?” He had not meant to imply anything about the potential for a next time, but he owned his words and held Weyoun’s gaze. 

“That is a very considerate offer. Would you be willing to part with other objects?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

“I don’t see why not.” He shifted, giving Weyoun more space to lie down. He found himself unsurprised that Weyoun wished to stay the night—they were still celebrating their collaborative work, after all. It was the very fact that it was unsurprising that was the surprise. He had never taken such a close friend to bed before. “You also don’t have to sleep with me to ask for something. I realize it might have sounded like I was implying something untoward.” 

Weyoun chuckled as he lay down beside him. “That is a relief to hear. I wouldn’t put myself through this ordeal again for any prize! All the kanar you drank led you to forget how to sleep with anyone, let alone with a Vorta of my standards.” Weyoun held the airfoil over his heart as he spoke. 

“Spare me the lies. We both know the issue is that your senses are dull enough that my skills are wasted on you!” He reached out and ran a finger over the ripples in one of Weyoun’s ears. “...I can’t wait to play digital kotra against you.” 

“I feel the same.” He nuzzled into the touch. “I also can’t wait for you to lose.”

As soon as Weyoun tucked the bullroarer beneath Damar’s pillow they dove at each other simultaneously, with bated breath, ready to bicker throughout the night. 


End file.
